Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ When Blood Soils One's Hands ❯ What Happens To Those Who's Hands Are Stained? ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimers : Sniff… Why? Oh why can't I own Weiss Kreuz? Just for one day, an hour, a minute… Pweez!!! Alright, alright! I don't own it and never will. *goes of pouting*.

Title: When Blood Soils One's Hands

Author: Black Mirror (stone_devil_666@hotmail.com)

Pairings : Just wait and see! I'm not gonna spoil the fun.

Summary: A mission goes wrong, teenagers from a certain school start missing, love is refused… welcome to Weiss!

Type: Angst and Romance

Rating: PG-13

Status: Work in progress

Warnings: YAOI!!! Partial child-rape, blood, murder… All those lovely things we like. Don't say I haven't warned you! Oh! And there might be bad language. Yes, I've made Ken swear. }:p

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Author's note: As promised, here's the fifth chapter because I reached thirty reviews (thiry-one actually)! I'm so happy. Now go and read the fic. Hope you enjoy. I've change the previous chapter (which was an author's note) as a thanking to all those who've reviewed up to know. Nothing to complicated, just a name listing. Enjoy!

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When Blood Soils One's Hands

Chapter V

What Happens to Those Whose Hands Are Stained?

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// Everything's so blurry

And everyone's so fake

And everybody's empty

And everything is so messed up //

Blurry / Puddle of Mudd

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I came back exhausted from the soccer practice. I don't know if it was because the kids had more energy in them then usual or from the lack of sleep. . . or both, but I was dead to the world and I knew I had a four straight and complete hours of work weighting my day down. Talk about a great day! Sheesh! That's what happens when they start out bad: they usually keep getting worst. Well, one thing I was grateful for was that my job duty was with Aya and not Yohji. I think I would already be dead if it had been with that blond-freak. Can't seem to stand him these days.

"Hey, Aya!" I jovially saluted when I passed in front of him while trying to reach the counter where three pots of anemones remained unattained to.

"I received quite a few deliveries and decided to give them all to Omi. You have two arrangements orders that were made by phone. The list of flowers is on the counter beside the cash register."

Clear and direct orders from our great leader, huh?

"I'm on it."

I went to the cash register and checked the list.

`Odd' I thought, `one of the two arrangements is made out of roses, freesias, gentians, cattleyas and a little baby's breath. '

As I turned around, a watering can in hand, a customer neared our shop. I turned to see Aya with both hands plunged deep in the dark and muddy soil, preparing to transplant a small rose tree. Knowing how he was the very silent and `I-don't-deal-with-people-too-well' type, I offered my services to the newcomer.

She was a strongly built woman wearing a long sleeved scarlet vest and chic black leather pants. Nothing rocker, I assure you. A simple business woman with a few fifty dollar bills in her pockets. She wore on the tip on her nose an impressively huge pair of sun glasses. From the Coco Chanel collection, I guessed when seeing the crossed `C's on their frame. She was tall, almost 5'10 I deduced, though she was wearing notably very high-healed shoes -also scarlet if I recall correctly. Her shoulder-length jet-black hair seemed to have been dyed for it contained a little too much unnatural blue reflections in it. All in all, she seemed like quite a lady to work with. Very mannered and elegant, indeed, though not my type at all.

"Hello" I greeted with a smile. "Can we help you with something? Our selection may not be the most diversified, but it's enough to keep the shop going."

"I called a little earlier" she explained in a rich and honeyed voice, "was it to you I spoke?"

Knowing very well I had not taken any phone calls, I deduced that it may have been Aya or Yohji and since the latter usually only flirts and doesn't mind the phone, I almost surely presumed that it she was referring to Aya. I called to him:

"Aya? There's someone for you-"

"Oh no!" she cut through my call, "I just wanted to know at what time the flowers would be delivered."

Recalling what Aya had said earlier about letting Omi take care of the deliveries, I answered:

"I'll put you first on the list if you want. All the arrangements should be done by four o'clock and sent by that time also."

She replaced her hand-bag and walked towards a stand where Aya had laid out a few rose trees and geraniums. She bent down to smell the newly flourished roses and smiled.

"I always loved the scent of roses. Such a charming and attractive aroma, is it not?"

"Surely is ma'm" I replied, wondering where she was getting at.

Again, she moved towards the cash register. She pointed at one of the flower pots and questioned:

"What are these nice little things?"

"Those are Omi's freesias. He never could part with them. . . though I'll admit I don't understand why."

She bit her lower lip and asked:

"They are not for sale then?"

I shook my head from left to right and answered:

"Nope! but I have some more in the back if you'd like."

She smile, her white teeth seemingly glowing with purity and pastiness.

"That would be nice, I thank you."

Quickly, I fetched some more freesias from the refrigerators in the back and gave them to the woman. Her smile disappeared a little and she explained:

"They are not nearly as nice and blooming, but they'll do the trick alright."

Her smile reappeared a new and she paid her due and left. Just before she went off in her red corvette, I saw her take out her lipstick and apply a second coat to her already present one. She waved and was off.

Some customers are just too weird. . .

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5, 4, 3, 2, 1. . .

"Aya! Yoh~ji" I wined, "it's 6 o'clock. Do you guys need help to close the shop?"

A brief nod acquiesced to my request. Ha! The day was finally done. Alright, so I hadn't been able to talk to Omi because he had loads of deliveries, but the rush was finally over. I'd done all the arrangements and had to finish up the diner. Since I had more time on my hands -I couldn't bother Omi when he wasn't there now could I, I decided to bake something original instead of microwaved-boxes. They've got so many flavors of pasta and pizza that it's almost impossible to separate pre-made food from the home-cooked.

Alfredo pasta with pieces of chicken seemed nice for the day. It summed it up well and it wasn't to hard to make: pre-made sauce ^_^;

"Hey, is Omi gonna be back soon? Diner's almost ready."

"Well, judging by the number of deliveries I can see on this list, he should have used the car, not his bike" Yohji answered snorting at his own comment.

I turned to a habitually more accurate source: Aya. Dear little bossy Aya!

"Aya?"

He simply raised his shoulders in a gesture of `beats me'. There goes my more accurate! Oh well, better wait and see, though he usually is back by now.

I sat at the table, having filled my plate with the delicious pasta. In fact, I didn't know if it was delicious yet, but I could always dream, couldn't I.

Diner time was pretty much filled with a few exclamations here and there but that's about it. No! I did not fight with Yohji! You guys making this a habit or what?

We didn't have anybody to tell us how their day went, we all knew what each had done. My meal wasn't bad. Not the best, but not that bad either. Aya didn't say anything at all -I'm starting to get used to that, and, well, Yohji didn't criticize -which I was grateful for.

We finish eating at precisely four minutes past 6:30. A little earlier then my schedule foresaw, but we had started eating earlier also. Wanting to break this unusual silence, I asked in a calm voice:

"Did you guys get any news from Manx?"

Surprisingly, Aya was the one who answered and, though his tone of voice was as monotonous as ever, he gave me a clear answer: not a monosyllabic one.

"I wrote the mission report since Omi was in school and sent it. Manx said something about being on somebody's trail but no more. It seems like we won't be long without a mission."

I wondered what had been Manx's reaction when she found it that Arosaki was already deceased when we found him. I wondered. . .

I got up and rinsed my plate in the sink. It was Yohji's turn to do the dishes and I knew he would probably complain a whole lot so I decided to leave the table before that occurred. I went to my room and turn the radio on. I didn't have any good compact discs so I left the radio play even though I didn't know what song was playing. Rhythmic enough for my taste.

I heard a few plates clash together and some grumbling and decided it was about time to turn the volume up higher. I pulled a chair up to the window and sat. There, I could clearly see the street, the road Omi would take to get home. 6:40 and he wasn't back yet.

I sat there for a while until the sky started to cloud up and rain began to pour down like the sky was falling on our heads. I swear it was like a torrent or something! Just when I thought it had rained enough yesterday, it rained again. The small droplets collided with each other finally forming puddles on the ground and I wondered if this wasn't the reason Omi was late. He may have gotten caught in the rain and have to slow down because , well you know, the pavement can get mighty slippery when it's wet. I hoped that was the answer.

"Ken" I heard someone call from another room, probably Yohji, "I'm going to try and find Omi. Aya's going to. You stay here and wait to see if he calls."

Up to this point I hadn't really noticed how time had flown by. It was now 9 o'clock and counting. Had I really been starring outside all this time? What was worrying me so bad, anyhow. The kids fine, right?

"Ken?"

"Yeah, sure! Call me if ever you find anything. I want to know. . . whatever news you get."

"Don't sweat it, we'll find him. He probably got lost or went somewhere to wait for the rain to stop."

I don't know why, but Yohji didn't seem to have much confidence in his voice as he said so. I heard the door slam and I knew that I was now alone in the house. Left to my worries in solitude.

I walked out of my bedroom and over to the couch in the living room. I had to find something to distract me and I didn't feel like watching TV. I picked up a few of Yohji's magazines and tried to read them. I couldn't concentrate. What if I was sitting around on my lazy ass and Omi was in trouble? Could I just watch like I had done yesterday? The kid should be home doing his homework with everybody teasing him. That's how the days almost always ended -unless there was a mission, of course. Not with this mind-joggling tension and anxiety. It's just not like him to make us worry. Now, remember, I'm not worried! I'm just, well, you know. . . there you're getting me all mixed up.

Leafing through the magazine, not paying much attention to anything but the pictures. I found a whole section on murders and kidnappings. This was not helping at all.

A sudden knock on the door startled me, bringing an end to my disturbing chain of thoughts. I glanced at my watch and wondered who it could be at this hour. I mean it was 9:45 after all. Alright, so it wasn't that late but people don't usual bother other's after eight. Perhaps was it Yohji who'd forgotten his keys. But if so, that meant Omi wasn't with him because he'd have his keys. It wasn't Omi's type to forget something like that. It couldn't be Aya because he always had his keys. Did that mean Yohji hadn't found Omi? No, I couldn't start thinking like that. There was still Aya anyways. Aya would find him for sure. Wouldn't he?

I bit my lower lip and made a beeline for the front door, almost beating my own shadow to it. With a swift tug, I opened it completely and stared at the intruder. In fact, the problem was that there was no intruder. There was no one. You could clearly see from the wet foot prints on the ground that someone had, in fact, been there, but now there was no one. A practical joke?

I looked at the ground again, scrutinizing the footsteps to see if this was the doing of an adult or a child and noticed something near my feet. Something that had been enveloped in a plastic bag. I brought it inside with me and unraveled it. A video tape? Who could have. . . ?

My gaze never leaving the black tape in my hands, I went to the TV and VCR and popped it in. Remote control in hand, I went over to the couch and slowly sat on it. Curiosity had gotten the better of me again and I wasn't thinking. You don't have to repeat it. I know! Curiosity killed the cat. But the cat's got nine lives. . .

The tape's opening was on a dark room much similar to what we had been locked up in yesterday. The same type of lighting, but this one had a small barred window in one of it's corners. There was no one in sight.

"Hell. . . o there" a low voice began, "I'm going to be your entertainer tonight. Around here they call me `the Raven'. Why? Well, here."

He moved in front of the camera and I was shocked at his appearance. He had long untamed ebony-colored hair that cascaded down to his waist and his skin was chalk-white. I know some of you might be saying that this mixture is almost perfection, but I assure it wasn't. This was not the beauty snow-white was. He looked horrible. Dark rings circled his eyes and his skin seemed almost transparent. For a man of his age -whatever age he seemed to have- he wasn't very built. Skinny and bony I'd even say. He had tattoos covering most parts of his body a part from his face. His entire arms were covered. He wore a dirtied black servant's vest with no more under it and ragged pants with knee-high leather boots covering the lower part of his wiry legs. In spite of his undernourished and even skeletal figure, he seemed to be tall enough, though that was hard to say since there was nothing I could compare his height with in the room. All in all, he was hideous. Let's just say I wouldn't like to have him as a stalker.

"Gotta love black!"

As he laughed, his tongue brushed against his upper lip in a very animal-like way. I noticed the piercing it carried but had no time to reflect on it.

"Now, would you like to assist to a spectacle like none other. The title is: What Happens to Those Who's Hands Are Stained? Or even better : When Blood Soils One's Hands."

That's when I knew it. This man, this psycho, this lunatic. . . this monster had Omi and he held him captive. For what reason? I didn't know but I, we wouldn't let him get away with it. You could be sure of that.

I didn't even bother to stop the tape and ran to the phone hoping Yohji and Aya had their cellular phones with them.

There was but one thought that filled my mind: this man, this psycho, this lunatic. . . this monster had Omi and he held him captive.

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